The selection of the new UN Secretary-General in a complex international context

 

UN: A New Secretary‑General in a Fragmented World

Victor Ângelo

The United Nations Security Council will next week enter a new phase in selecting the next Secretary‑General. The vote will be informal, and each candidate will receive one of three assessments: encouragement, discouragement, or no opinion. This step unfolds against an international landscape marked by political fragmentation, strategic rivalry, and a growing scepticism about the capacity of multilateral institutions to respond to shared global challenges. The successor to António Guterres will inherit not only an agenda crowded with crises, but also the responsibility of demonstrating that global problems can only be confronted through some degree of collective cooperation.

For decades, and until the early years of this century, there existed a minimal consensus around the need for a shared international development agenda. That spirit animated the Millennium Development Goals (2000) and re‑emerged, with greater ambition, in the Sustainable Development Goals (2015). Today, however, that consensus has weakened. The rhetoric of cooperation persists, but the political action that once sustained it has been profoundly eroded.

Three structural factors help explain this deterioration.

The first is the intensification of competition among major powers. Development, infrastructure, technology, and global governance have ceased to be mere domains of cooperation; they have become instruments of power. The most influential states now compete over norms, markets, strategic dependencies, and institutional spaces. The Security Council — which should be the principal forum for building compromise — has proved increasingly unable to produce the necessary and lasting agreements.

China seeks to occupy this space through its global initiatives on Development, Security, Civilisation and, since September 2025, Global Governance, recently complemented by the creation of the World Artificial Intelligence Cooperation Organisation (WAICO). These initiatives follow the Belt and Road framework launched by Xi Jinping in the previous decade. China’s official vocabulary is multilateralist, yet in practice these proposals compete with Western initiatives — such as the G7 Partnership for Global Infrastructure and Investment (2022) — and with the UN itself. What is at stake is not merely the financing of roads, ports, digital networks, or energy systems, but the definition of standards, the establishment of financing criteria, the shaping of political choices, and the moulding of the international environment in which developing countries make decisions.

The second factor is the governance of technology. Robotics and artificial intelligence can free labour from repetitive or dangerous tasks, accelerating progress in health, education, science, and public administration. But without common rules and shared oversight mechanisms, these technologies risk concentrating economic and political power, deepening inequalities, and reducing the autonomy of entire societies. The Sino‑Western dispute over AI norms makes the creation of multilateral forums capable of setting minimum standards even more urgent.

The third factor is the digital transformation of societies. Social media have profoundly altered how citizens perceive the world, relate to one another, and participate in public life. The philosopher Byung‑Chul Han — an exceptionally original thinker and recipient of the Princess of Asturias Award for Communication and Humanities (2025) — argues that digital capitalism fosters an individualism centred on self‑exposure and egocentrism. This “society of the self” erodes empathy and generates indifference towards collective causes: distant poverty, other people’s wars, the climate crisis, or institutional fragility. A kind of civic anaesthesia has taken hold. Added to this is the impact of transnational disinformation, which crosses borders at digital speed and shapes public perceptions, political decisions, and even the legitimacy of multilateral institutions.

Faced with this landscape of public apathy and interstate rivalry, the next Secretary‑General will need to define priorities that are both realistic and politically sustainable. Even before doing so, he or she must redesign the UN’s relationship with the expanding ecosystem of regional organisations and cooperation platforms led by Global South states. Bodies such as the African Union, ASEAN, CELAC, the Arab League, the Shanghai Cooperation Organisation, BRICS+, WAICO, and the Belt and Road Initiative now shape strategic decisions on security, infrastructure, technology, and finance. They are not merely complementary forums: they are instruments of political and economic influence that sometimes compete with the UN’s universal coordinating role. The challenge for the next SG will be to cooperate with these entities without allowing them to replace the UN’s normative and universal function, ensuring that institutional fragmentation does not become normative fragmentation.

The first priority should be a proposal for reform of the Security Council. Without a composition more representative of contemporary geopolitical realities, without greater presence of emerging powers, and without some limit on the paralysing effect of the veto, the Council will continue to lose legitimacy and effectiveness. Bringing it closer to the General Assembly and making it more accountable to the international community will be equally essential.

The second priority should be the protection of multilateral mechanisms that still produce globally beneficial consensus: public health, food security, climate action, humanitarian assistance, migration, sustainable development, and conflict prevention. These are areas where cooperation remains possible and where the UN retains clear added value.

The third priority will require particular attention to the definition of minimum standards for technological governance, especially in the field of artificial intelligence. The aim is not to impose a single model, but to avoid normative fragmentation that leaves the most vulnerable countries at the mercy of private interests or strategic pressure from major powers.

Rebuilding trust means identifying concrete areas where cooperation remains viable, creating incentives for it to prevail over rivalry, and demanding greater political responsibility from those who weaken institutions serving common interests. It also requires clearer rules for digital platforms, whose impact on public opinion and democratic quality can no longer be treated as a secondary matter.

The choice of the next Secretary‑General matters, but it will not be sufficient. Equally decisive will be the quality of the team that accompanies him or her, its independence from the pressures of its countries of origin, and its ability to build bridges without becoming captive to any bloc. The central challenge is not to restore a lost faith in international solidarity, but to construct more modest, pragmatic, and persistent forms of collaboration in a world where interests diverge, power is more dispersed, and trust is becoming an increasingly scarce resource.

Europe and the big powers: be strategic

 

Europe and the Illusion of Permanent Allies

Victor Ângelo

International Security Advisor. Former UN Under-Secretary-General

Published on: 17 Jul 2026

This week, yet another uncomfortable question arose regarding the Hormuz crisis. What legitimacy does a big power have to treat the chokepoints of global trade – and the States that depend upon them – as mere means to its own ends? On Monday, the President of the United States proclaimed himself the "Guardian of the Strait of Hormuz" and imposed a 20% tax on commercial transit through this maritime corridor. On Tuesday, he backtracked and annulled the measure. He did so under pressure from his Gulf allies.

The episode revealed a lack of strategic discernment – an essential quality in any leadership. Acumen is not hesitation, cowardice, or tactical calculation. It is the ability to assess the consequences of a decision before announcing it; to distinguish between what is legally possible, politically acceptable, and strategically sustainable; and to act in a manner that preserves credibility, rather than squandering it on incongruous gestures. A leader with discernment knows that power is not solely measured by the capacity to impose a measure, but also by the aptitude to foresee the resistance it will trigger.

The ephemeral tax of the self-proclaimed "guardian" was an example of imprudence: imposed as a fait accompli, without a recognised legal basis, without consulting the directly affected partners, and without a serious assessment of the Gulf States' reaction. The measure collapsed not out of generosity, but because the affected countries possessed the power to reverse it. The International Maritime Organisation confirmed there was no legal basis for this levy. The problem was not merely the decision; it was the public demonstration that a great power can announce a global measure and discover the following day that it lacks the conditions to sustain it. Consequently, it undermines trust in its word.

President Trump’s decision should not be read as an isolated episode or a personal eccentricity. It belongs to a broader pattern: that of great powers transforming interdependence into instruments of pressure. It is in Africa that this pattern is most clearly visible. All promise protection, investment, security, or development. All invoke the sovereignty of their partners. Yet, in far too many cases, the outcome is an asymmetrical relationship: African countries surrender resources, strategic positions, or decision-making leeway; great powers reap the advantages; and political promises remain contingent upon convenience.

In February 2025, the President of the Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC) offered Washington access to the country's critical minerals in exchange for security guarantees. Partnership agreements between the two followed, signed in December of that year: the United States gained preferential access to Congolese mineral concessions and assumed the obligation to protect the sovereignty of the eastern DRC. On the American side, the pact did not translate into action. Washington limited itself to approving sanctions against Rwanda, which it accuses of sponsoring the rebels.

In Zimbabwe, the Chinese conglomerate Huayou Cobalt inaugurated the continent's first lithium sulphate plant in 2026. Zimbabwe banned the export of raw lithium to force local processing; it was China, not Zimbabwe, that built the processor – thereby capturing the enormous value of this project.

In Mali, Sudan, and the Central African Republic, the Russian Africa Corps protects military regimes in exchange for gold. These pacts are presented as exercises in sovereignty and protection of these States, but the result is akin to that observed in Kinshasa and Harare. Local partners pay with natural resources, dependence, and a loss of autonomy; great powers extract value; and the promised protection rarely equates to enduring security for the populations.

Europe must draw a clear warning from these examples. No great power is a full, automatic, and unconditional ally of Europe. Each acts according to its own interests:

• Washington seeks to preserve its geopolitical primacy.

• Beijing wishes to control value chains, markets, and critical technologies.

• Moscow aims to limit European autonomy and exploit its fundamental vulnerabilities.

Europe may cooperate with all powers when interests align. However, it must do so with the necessary political vision.

Thus, it is fundamental to abandon strategic naïvety. Strategic discernment demands that Europe maintain open channels, but reduce critical dependencies; cooperate when advantageous, but prepare alternatives; negotiate with seriousness, but without submission.

Washington may remain an indispensable partner in matters of security, but it must no longer be treated as the automatic guarantor of the European order. China may be a commercial and mutual investment partner, but it must equally be viewed as a systemic political competitor in industry, technology, and the control of raw materials. Russia may one day return to being an interlocutor, but as long as it employs coercion, threats, and military aggression as political methods, it must be viewed with suspicion.

European autonomy cannot be a mere rhetorical formula. The only alliances upon which Europe can rely in a stable manner are, first and foremost, those it manages to build within itself – on a foundation of genuine, not merely declarative, unity – and, subsequently, with blocs and economies of comparable weight.

It is not a matter of exchanging dependence on Washington for dependence on Beijing or Moscow. Nor is it about fostering unnecessary enmities with the great powers. It is about recognising that, in an order dispersed among rival poles, without a single authority capable of enforcing international rules, Europe must face the great powers as what they structurally already are: competing entities whose interests may align with European ones at certain moments and diverge profoundly at others.

For Europe, this means one cannot confuse diplomatic proximity with peace; markets with dependence; and protection with tutelage. If Europe fails to learn these distinctions, it risks finding itself in the same league as those illusorily sovereign States, where the essential decisions regarding their security, digital systems, energy, industry, and prosperity run the risk of being made outside their own capitals.

The NATO Summit and the defence of the European geopolitical space

 Europe 2030: Anticipating the Unthinkable and Guaranteeing Peace

Victor Ângelo 

International Security Advisor. 

Former UN Under-Secretary-General

Published on: 10 Jul 2026

The NATO Summit in Ankara has made it impossible to continue ignoring the possibility of a Russian aggression against the European space by the end of the decade. It has become a strategic hypothesis that demands preparation, deterrence, and political will. Europe faces a concrete threat and must build a genuine, coordinated, and maximally autonomous Defence capability. Ankara also confirmed a second self-evident truth: the support of the United States, whilst indispensable, can no longer be treated as an automatic guarantee.

European States must correct an error of judgement: interpreting Moscow as if the Kremlin calculated its actions according to a rational economic logic of costs and benefits. This is not the case. Its strategic vision is shaped by other forces: regime survival, historical resentment towards the West, an obsession with a lost sphere of influence, and the need to project strength to prevent any perception of weakness.

That is why the continuation and intensification of the Russian war against Ukraine increase the European risk. This crisis, triggered by the Kremlin, must end without further delay. As Kyiv demonstrates the capacity to strike critical infrastructure within Russia, the vulnerability of Vladimir Putin's power becomes more visible. These attacks erode an autocracy centred on a single face, whose authority depends on internal repression and the appearance of external invincibility. The greater danger is that the Kremlin, should it feel backed into a corner, might seek to regain the initiative through an escalation against NATO countries, pressuring the West to yield and attempting to force Ukraine into capitulation.

This threat would not be a massive territorial invasion in the image of the wars of the 20th century. The technological context has changed the nature of aggression and reduced the time available for decision-making. The risk may arise from surgical, localized operations of great political impact. Russia possesses missile systems, including hypersonics, capable of striking infrastructure in Western Europe in a matter of minutes. Under a logic of controlled escalation, a precision strike against a port, a power station, a communications hub, or a military base would not necessarily mean the onset of a total war. It could suffice to paralyse the Alliance's political decision-making. Every missile would also be a coercive message.

In parallel, the aggression could take the form of rapid operations in vulnerable points: Svalbard, in northern Norway, essential for monitoring the Arctic; Gotland, in Sweden, decisive for controlling the Baltic Sea; or the Suwałki Gap, between Poland and Lithuania, squeezed between Kaliningrad and Belarus. A lightning occupation, albeit limited in space and time, would have a clear objective: to sever access, create faits accomplis, and force NATO to choose between responding, negotiating, or hesitating.

The target would be allied cohesion. If Russia were to advance and NATO were to hesitate, Article 5 would not disappear from paper, but it would lose political substance. The Alliance would continue to exist; however, it would be left with diminished credibility. And an alliance that no longer intimidates the aggressor approaches the old Chinese image, taken up by Mao, of a paper tiger.

The transition to a sort of “NATO 3.0”, in which Europe will have to assume a much greater share of its own Defence, creates a period of critical vulnerability. The summit made it clear that Europe cannot organize its security on the assumption of a constant, predictable, and politically unconditional American presence.

Furthermore: any American insistence on territorial claims or control over Greenland – a topic once again stirred up by Donald Trump in Ankara – would introduce severe tension into the heart of the Alliance. Moscow would tend to interpret a transatlantic fracture of this nature as an opportunity to test NATO's solidity, exploit divisions, and accelerate its operations in the grey zone.

In my preceding article – “NATO and the trap of red lines”, of 3 July 2026 – I emphasized that one of the most dangerous responses would be to announce “red lines”. Linear thinking fails in the face of hybrid warfare and the manoeuvres that take place in the twilight of the grey zone. By proclaiming absolute ultimatums, the Alliance would risk being pushed into an escalation it does not desire or, worse still, exposing its hesitations. What is required is strategic ambiguity: genuine military capabilities, demonstrable readiness, and response options sufficiently unpredictable to render the adversary's calculations more difficult. Europe must invest in a coordinated manner in its Armed Forces and, simultaneously, preserve the language and practice of peace.

Recognizing that Russian aggression is a real possibility on the 2030 horizon is not alarmism. It is strategic prudence. European rearmament should not be presented as a march towards confrontation, but as a condition for avoiding it. When one's neighbour is a power that transforms history into imperial claims and force into a diplomatic argument, peace comes at a high price. But the price of unpreparedness would be incomparably higher. It is this that must be explained to citizens, without euphemisms or useless dramatizations.

Deterrence and defence do not substitute diplomacy; they lend it weight. A fragile Europe may suggest the opening of a dialogue, but it will hardly be heard. A strong, coherent, and autonomous Europe can propose to Moscow a credible, sustained negotiation, oriented towards stability. Dialogue with Russia will always be sterile if conducted from a position of dependence, division, or fear.

Preparing for the unthinkable does not mean desiring war. It means preventing others from considering it advantageous. To guarantee peace – and this remains the paramount objective –, Europe must be ready to respond to scenarios that until recently seemed inconceivable. Peace depends on the credibility of our resolve.

USA and Iran: some comments about a very complex negotiation

 

Power Without Credibility: The Improvisations of the US–Iran Crisis

Victor Ângelo

International Security Advisor. Former UN Under-Secretary-General Published on: 26 Jun 2026

Despite their political complexity, contradictions, and turbulence, the ongoing negotiations between the United States and Iran can be assessed positively. Following months of direct combat, a memorandum of understanding has been signed and a framework for a ceasefire established, with Pakistan and Qatar now acting as mediators. However, the crisis remains unresolved, and an objective analysis of its various dimensions reveals important lessons for international relations.

When the US initiated attacks against Iran in close coordination with Israel, they expected a swift resolution and the total surrender of their adversary. The outcome was quite different. Iran retaliated, disrupted traffic in the Strait of Hormuz, and demonstrated that it would not be defeated without imposing significant costs upon its attackers. The elimination of the Supreme Leader, Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, at the onset of the conflict did not precipitate the collapse of the Iranian regime that Washington had anticipated. The tactic of 'decapitating' the leadership proved fallible, contradicting certain military doctrines. Iran appointed a new leadership and maintained its capacity for resistance.

This demonstrated a failure on the American side to accurately evaluate the context, resulting in a severe impact on the political credibility of the White House—something far more difficult to rebuild than new arsenals. Credibility is not measured by the scale of military offensives. It stems from political coherence, adherence to commitments, and the trust a power inspires—above all, amongst its allies.

The withdrawal of the US from the JCPOA (the 2015 nuclear agreement), the chaotic departure from Afghanistan, and the erosion of pacts in Iraq were not isolated acts. To these, one might add the ambiguities surrounding aid to Ukraine and the future of NATO. All of this forms a pattern—and it is these patterns that other governments study when deciding upon the future of their defence alliances. For the Gulf States, the 2026 conflict confirmed the trend: an alliance with Washington is a matter of convenience and circumstance. These nations are now seeking to diversify their partnerships in order to reduce their strategic exposure. This is the direct consequence of a loss of trust.

The negotiations do not aim to secure a peace treaty. At best, the ongoing discussions will serve to maintain the status quo. For many, this will be perceived as a victory for Iranian strategy. In that event, the fear that kept numerous countries aligned with Washington will be weakened. When governments observe that a superpower presenting itself as the guarantor of their security cannot fully dictate its will to a country such as Iran, they may conclude that the time has come to seek alternatives.

The recent ASEAN summit with Russia in Kazan exemplified this shift. ASEAN member states—including Timor-Leste—signed a comprehensive cooperation plan with Russia extending to 2030, encompassing the realm of regional security. Despite reservations regarding Moscow’s conduct in Ukraine, Southeast Asian nations refused to accept the Western narrative that portrays Russia as a pariah state. The message emanating from ASEAN was unequivocal: they do not intend to subordinate their interests to a Western-led order that they view as increasingly incoherent and self-centred. When the conflict closed the Strait of Hormuz, Asian nations suffered genuine economic losses—and their interests were ignored by Washington.

For China, the lessons are equally apparent. Should Beijing employ its power in the South China Sea or Taiwan in a manner perceived by its neighbours as threatening, it could provoke a reaction akin to that faced by the US—allies becoming increasingly sceptical and reticent. China, much like the US, tends to conflate dominance with leadership. However, dominance imposes submission; leadership generates commitment. And it is commitment that endures.

Russia has realized to its own cost, and by observing the US in the Middle East, that a great power entangled in a protracted conflict suffers reputational damage and loses allies. To counter isolation and preserve influence, it is adopting various initiatives and attempting to forge new alliances—the Kazan summit and operations in the Sahel being prime examples.

There exists, however, an institution created precisely to limit instability and promote cooperation: the United Nations. The UN was born from the recognition that lasting peace cannot depend upon a single power acting of its own accord. A common framework is required—with shared rules, obligations, and consequences. A framework that establishes boundaries and allows the weakest to rely on something more solid than the goodwill and volatile moods of the powerful.

Military actions outside the rules of International Law do not merely damage the reputation of their perpetrators: they undermine the very system intended to ensure peace. Every time a power acts as though its highly subjective reading of the facts overrides universal norms, it weakens the institution upon which everyone relies.

Revitalizing the United Nations is not an idealistic ambition; it is a strategic necessity. It is vital to reiterate this truth. A UN with genuine authority to mediate conflicts and hold great powers accountable is not an obstacle to legitimate interests—it is the only reliable substitute for the continuous cycle of trust erosion that the crisis of 2026 has once again highlighted.

The verdict that emerges for those who observe international relations with a critical and independent mind is this: power exercised without principles, in an improvised manner, is like a disoriented weather vane, incapable of indicating the true course. A peace imposed by force and economic pressure is no peace at all—it is merely an interlude until the next confrontation. Lasting peace rests upon the recognition that all States, however diverse, strong or weak they may be, possess an equal right to security and sovereignty, and that the world must be governed by law, not by the will of the strongest.

The Space Geopolitics

Superpowers, creative billionaires, and the dispute over outer space

Victor Ângelo 

International Security Advisor. Former UN Under-Secretary-General Published: 5 Jun 2026

Outer space is already a paramount issue in the competition between great powers. Consequently, the deserts of northwestern China, in Xinjiang and Gobi, attract very special attention. Satellite imagery reveals vast military complexes and an extensive network of many dozens, even hundreds, of rocket launch pads, bunkers, and enormous, heavily fortified structures. Built near nuclear silos—which house China’s longest-range intercontinental missiles—this infrastructure aims to guarantee an immediate retaliatory capacity should the country suffer a first strike.

This terrestrial fortress is only half the story. The bunkers excavated in the sand are intimately linked to Chinese surveillance satellites, together forming an integrated ground and space defence system. The assets concentrated in the desert depend directly on their orbital counterparts: the Huoyan-1 early-warning satellites. These "eyes of fire", capable of detecting the infrared signature of enemy missiles immediately after their launch, open a critical three-to-four-minute window, allowing the Chinese chain of command to order the firing of weapons stored in the silos before they can be destroyed.

We are in a different world from the old space race. In the late 1950s and the subsequent decade, the focus was on the national prestige and political image of the US and the USSR. The marathon of space competition has changed. Today, it is a high-speed and high-risk race.

Space is one of the great strategic priorities of the present. Much of what resides in low Earth orbit governs our daily lives: global logistics, financial synchronization, communications, disaster response, and encrypted military operations. The country that masters the technical standards, extracts the first cosmic resources, and controls the orbital infrastructure will obtain an ambivalent power over the global economy and planetary defence, capable of serving human progress as much as military hegemony and a global disaster.

The current space arena is thus a vital geopolitical dispute, marked by four distinct political approaches. Each power runs its own race.

European priorities are concentrated on the development of space infrastructure essential to ensure strategic communications, on the Galileo (GPS navigation) and Copernicus (continuous Earth observation) projects, on the tracking of orbital debris (see the reference to Kessler below), and on research regarding robotic launches. The scarcity of venture capital and fragmentation—every country for itself—are the political issues that need to be resolved.

The United States has consolidated its reliance on public-private partnerships in the aerospace sector. Through the Artemis Accords, Washington seeks to promote international norms that favour free enterprise to maintain its supremacy, leveraging the agility and efficiency of the private sector. Artemis aims to establish a sustained human and robotic presence on the Moon, testing new technologies for the extraction of water and minerals.

China views space through a deeply integrated civil-military lens. For Beijing, it is a strategic domain subject to state control. The Chinese vision constitutes an explicit challenge to US primacy. In this context, China prioritizes the International Lunar Research Station (ILRS), seeking to secure a sovereign infrastructure independent of Western systems. The exploration of the lunar South Pole has become a central objective.

Russia was once a pioneering actor. Today, despite financial constraints and sanctions that limit access to technological components, the space sector continues to be treated as a priority. It retains a highly secretive character. However, it is known to invest primarily in the research and testing of destructive anti-satellite weapons, space-based intelligence, and hypersonic weaponry. This option holds considerable strategic value, both defensive and offensive.

The explosion of space business, operating on an unprecedented financial scale, is another characteristic of our era. The current US dominance is largely driven by private giants such as Jeff Bezos's Blue Origin and, most notably, Elon Musk's SpaceX. By pioneering reusable rockets, SpaceX has drastically reduced launch costs. With a capitalization that already rivals the GDP of major states, the company has rewritten the rules of orbital geopolitics.

These private companies have ceased to be mere service providers. Today, they are central geopolitical actors, wielding enormous economic weight and playing a decisive role in American defence. But, with high economic value comes severe strategic vulnerability. In any potential conflict, the temptation to blind an adversary by destroying their early-warning and communications satellites could be limitless.

An attack of this kind—or even an accidental collision between satellites in orbit—would have devastating systemic effects. There is a risk of triggering the so-called Kessler syndrome: a catastrophic chain reaction in which orbital debris collides with other satellites, generating exponentially more fragments. This would rapidly create a global crisis, with Earth's orbit saturated by high-speed debris directly impacting multiple essential systems. It would not only affect military deterrence: it could compromise the terrestrial economy and provoke a civilizational regression of incalculable consequences.

The 1967 Outer Space Treaty is no longer fit for an era marked by thousands of objects in orbit—a continuously growing number—and by the development of anti-satellite (ASAT) weapons. The Second Space Race, which is currently underway, demands cooperation and far stricter rules—a new treaty. Space cannot be viewed merely as a competition or an extraordinary business opportunity. It is our collective survival that is at stake.

Trump goes to Xi Jinping 's empire: what for?

 Trump's visit to China

(Published in Portuguese in Diário de Notícias - Lisbon - on 15 May 2026)

When the Air Force One touches down in Beijing, Donald Trump imagines that a brief two-day visit to China will be consecrated by the American electorate as a personal triumph. Yet, the reality that matters is entirely different. Beneath the handshakes and the protocol-driven photographs with Xi Jinping, a contemporary version of Thucydides’s Trap is taking shape: the clash between two superpowers—one established, attempting to preserve its hegemony (the US), and the other, emerging, in rapid ascension (China).

For Trump, the purpose of this summit is neither to redraw the security architecture of the twenty-first century nor to speak of peace, harmony, or global challenges—themes that rarely find a place on his agenda. What he seeks is a tactical spectacle. Brief and marketable as a victory, ahead of the midterm elections in November.

The American president seeks to return with results that are easy to communicate: signs of commercial detente (commitments to additional purchases in sectors relevant to the MAGA electorate) and, ideally, some Chinese gesture that reduces the risk of disruption in the Strait of Hormuz. Image management is an integral part of his strategy. The domestic media landscape in the United States has grown increasingly asymmetric: influential segments amplify partisan narratives, shaped by commercial incentives and the polarization surrounding Trump.

The problem with this transactional approach is that it exposes the true American weakness: an obsession with the short term erodes trust and alienates allies. Taipei watches, anxious, at the prospect of its security being converted into a bargaining chip. In Europe, the visit is interpreted as an indicator of volatility in Washington’s strategic orientation. This tends to reinforce debates regarding European defense autonomy, economic resilience, and technology policy.

On the other side of the table, Xi Jinping moves his chess pieces without haste and free from the constraints of electoral calendars. Beijing’s immediate interest is simple: to manage Trump’s unpredictability, to employ personal diplomacy to extract rhetorical concessions over Taiwan, and, above all, to buy time. The Chinese leadership operates on the assumption that the long-term trend—in industrial capacity, technology, semiconductors, Artificial Intelligence, and external influence—favours them, and therefore privileges strategies of attrition and the extension of the decision-making horizon.

At first glance, China appears armed with trumps that are difficult to counter. A centralized political system allows it to define priorities and mobilize resources across a multi-year horizon—as seen in the Five-Year Plans—thereby reducing coordination costs in strategic sectors. The alignment with Moscow, described by both leaderships as a partnership "without limits", grants Beijing additional leeway in matters of energy, diplomacy, trade routes, and security, though it exposes it to reputational risks and secondary sanctions. Internationally, China seeks to consolidate its influence and power among the countries of the Global South through the financing of infrastructure and logistics chains (the Belt and Road Initiative) and via expanding forums such as the BRICS.

Yet, this appearance of invincibility conceals vulnerabilities capable of altering the course of events. What Beijing projects to the outside world as "cohesion and stability" is, more often than not, an internal peace imposed by force and by an apparatus of surveillance and repression. China is far from a monolith: it is a mosaic of 1.41 billion people, 56 ethnic groups, hundreds of languages, and tens of millions of citizens belonging to minorities. In vital regions such as Xinjiang (with over 26 million inhabitants) and Tibet (around 3.6 million), forced assimilation replaces political autonomy—and tensions do not disappear; they accumulate.

The true threat to the regime dominated by the Communist Party may not come from the peripheries, but from the center: From the rising expectations of the Han majority in the megacities; From frustrated, highly educated youth struggling within an increasingly competitive society; And from the persistent asymmetry between hyper-technological coastal cities—such as Shanghai and Shenzhen—and the deeply traditional rural interior living on the brink of subsistence. 

In systems with mechanisms of accountability and mediation—a relatively free press, civic associations, room for public demonstrations, independent courts, and competitive elections—dissent tends to be channeled and absorbed through institutional avenues, reducing the probability of abrupt ruptures.

In an autocratic regime, where public expression is limited and the correction of policies depends chiefly upon those who lead the Party-State, errors can accumulate for longer and become more difficult to reverse. When economic, demographic, or legitimacy shocks converge, the management of social conflicts becomes more demanding, and the cost of maintaining stability rises.

In strategic terms, both China and the United States possess incentives for a minimum understanding to reduce potential conflicts: managing crises before they escalate, avoiding military incidents at sea and in the air, and stabilizing expectations within technological, digital, and commercial competition.

These are the themes that Trump and Xi ought to discuss—not as gestures of goodwill, but to construct an architecture of mutual restraint. Such an arrangement does not erase the rivalry. It is, however, the only way to prevent a miscalculation from ruining everything. Thucydides’s Trap could then pass definitively into history.

Some notes about the USA-Iran conflict and political praxis

 

USA-Iran: The Escalation, the Political Game, and the Possible Way Out

Victor Ângelo

International Security Adviser. Former UN Under-Secretary-General

Published on: 24 Apr 2026, 01:24

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Constantly promoted by television channels and other media outlets—including digital platforms—the political spectacle functions like a fast-acting drug: it stimulates and excites, but it does not nourish; it promises a cure, but it does not treat the disease. Then, once the adrenaline subsides, the nagging question returns: where are the results? In everyday life, what remains are the exorbitant costs of fuel, healthcare, housing, and everything else, coupled with a growing sense of insecurity.

Once the effect wears off, everything remains the same—or worse. Over time, the circus ends up turning the spectator against the political actors, who fail to produce results, and against the commentators, who change their predictions as often as they change their shirts. This is politics made for the camera: the essential thing is to remain visible, at the centre of the arena.

When results fail to materialise, the strategy usually shifts: either a flurry of reforms is announced (in a "make-believe" style), or polarisation is increased and an enemy is sought to shoulder all the blame. The spectacle can mobilise crowds; it can even win elections. But it is concrete results that sustain power and, for a time, guarantee social peace.

Alternatively, to remain in power, the sinister leader attempts to destroy—or at least weaken—the institutions that sustain democratic regimes. If he is a fascist, he seeks to capture them, subjugate them, and render them entirely obedient. If he is a populist, the objective is more elementary: to reduce the capacity for oversight and scrutiny, to eliminate the checks and balances. From that point on, he rules as he pleases.

Nero, an erratic emperor, obsessively cultivated popular adulation and a cult of personality. He projected himself as a divine figure—from Apollo to the Sun—and ruled almost always in confrontation with the Senate. Trump cannot go quite so far in a system with the separation of powers and a pluralistic press. However, he has attempted to push the boundaries: minimising the role of Congress, pressuring the judiciary, attacking Democratic governors, and attempting to condition the media and social platforms. And, when convenient, he returns to the old expedient of external military operations: projecting force, dominating the news cycle, and galvanising fringes of the electorate.

Lacking results that improve the daily lives of families, he attacks the foundations of democracy and exploits nationalism: the USA is presented as the number one power on the international stage. All this is done as the electoral calendar tightens: the mid-term elections of 3 November are approaching. On that day, control of the Senate and the House of Representatives, several governorships, and other positions will be at stake. In practice, it is Donald Trump’s own power that is on the ballot. And the signs, in general, are not in his favour. Hence the urgency to contain—and, ideally, end—the escalation with Iran before it takes on a life of its own.

How will this escalation evolve, and what is the possible way out—a way out that avoids a significant electoral setback? This, I believe, is the central question, at a time when the possibility of a second round of contacts between the parties in Islamabad is once again circulating.

The answer—an agreement in Islamabad, yes or no?—does not depend on a single variable. I would summarise it as follows: Hormuz, the nuclear issue, the future of Iranian domestic politics, and, finally, the Israeli factor (with the particular weight of Netanyahu’s unacceptable hardline stance). A minimally viable understanding would have to lower the temperature in the Strait, stabilise the nuclear dossier, and create de-escalation channels that function away from the cameras and the major headlines—and not merely in communiqués for international consumption.

It would be a massive error if the authorities in Tehran concluded that it is not worth sitting down again with an American delegation. The list of Washington’s demands is known—maximalist, at the very limit of what Tehran can accept without losing domestic authority—and the Iranian position on each of these conditions is also known. Nevertheless, it is plausible that a meeting, even without formal "negotiations", could prevent a return to large-scale hostilities and allow other actors to continue the diplomatic work already underway—from China to Turkey, not forgetting Pakistan (a close ally of Beijing)—as well as in various Asian and Gulf countries.

China and Pakistan appear to be pressuring Tehran to ensure that this new round of contacts—it is too early to call them "negotiations"—happens now or in the near future.

Both sides would have something to gain from a limited agreement. For Washington, the advantage is obvious: halting an escalatory dynamic that, besides being dangerous on the ground, increases the risk of violations of International Humanitarian Law and further degrades its image in the region and Southeast Asia. And, let us be honest, the American image today is often viewed through two filters: the temptation of "muscle" and the automatic alignment with the Israeli leadership.

For Tehran, the calculation is equally clear: avoiding economic collapse and not falling into the trap of a war of reprisals against oil and natural gas installations—and against the ports of neighbouring Gulf states, where a single incident is enough to set everything ablaze.

This is a crisis that needs to be halted quickly. Under normal conditions, it would be a matter for the UN Security Council. We live, however, in a world where the great powers choose, à la carte, which precepts of International Law they take seriously.

Nevertheless, a combination of efforts of a new type—China, India, and the European Union, with a couple of countries from the South (Pakistan and Indonesia, for example)—could, in my view, make the difference where the UN is paralysed: maintaining permanent channels of contact, securing the acceptance of minimally verifiable ceasefire measures, and designing a pragmatic roadmap for Hormuz and the nuclear dossier. It is this type of diplomatic work that averts disasters. It is essential.